See how these ancient men who rul'd thy state
And made thee happy, made thee great,
Who sat upon the awful chair
Of mighty Moses, in long scarlet clad,
The good to cherish and chastise the bad,
Now sit in the corrupted air,
In silent melancholy, and in sad despair!
See how their murder'd children round 'em lie!
Ah! dismal scene! hark, how they cry!
"Woe! woe! one beam of mercy give,
"Good Heav'n! Alas! for we would live!
"Be pitiful, and suffer us to die!"
Thus they lament, thus beg for ease,
While in their feeble aged arms they hold
The bodies of their offspring stiff and cold,
To guard 'em from the rav'nous savages,
Till their increasing sorrows Death persuade 125
(For death must sure with pity see
The horrid desolation he has made)
To put a period to their misery.
Thy wretched daughters that survive
Are by the Heathen kept alive
Only to gratify their lust,
And then be mixed with the common dust.
Oh! insupportable, stupendous woe!
What shall we do? ah! whither shall we go? Down to the grave, down to those happy shades
Where all our brave progenitors are blest
With endless triumph and eternal rest.
But who, without a flood of tears, can see
Thy mournful sad catastrophe?
Who can behold thy glorious Temple lie
In ashes, and not be in pain to die?
Unhappy, dear Jerusalem! thy woes
Have rais'd my griefs to such a vast excess,
Their mighty weight no mortal knows,
Thought cannot comprehend, or words express;
Nor can they possibly, while I survive, be less. 146
Good Heav'n had been extremely kind
If it had struck me dead, or struck me blind,
Before this cursed time, this worst of days.
Is Death quite tir'd? are all his arrows spent? 150
If not, why then so many dull delays ?
Quick, quick, let the obliging dart be sent !
Nay, at me only let ten thousand fly,
Whoe'er shall wretchedly survive, that I
May, happily, be sure to die.
Yet still we live, live in excess of pain;
Our friends and relatives are slain;
Nothing but ruins round us see,
Nothing but desolation, woe, and misery!
Nay, while we thus with bleeding hearts com
Our enemies without prepare
Their direful engines to pursue the war,
And you may slavishly preserve your breath,
Or seek for freedom-in the arms of Death.
Thus then resolve, nor tremble at the thought; 165
Can glory be too dearly bought?
Since the Almighty wisdom has decreed
That we and all our progeny should bleed,
It shall be after such a noble way,
Succeeding ages will with wonder view
What brave despair compell'd us to :
No, we will ne'er survive another day.
Bring then your wives, your children, all
That's valuable, good, or dear,
With ready hands, and place 'em here;
They shall unite in one vast funeral.
I know your courages are truly brave,
And dare do any thing but ill :
Who would an aged father save,
That he may live in chains, and be a slave,
Or for remorseless enemies to kill?
Let your bold hands then give the fatal blow;
For what at any other time would be
The dire effect of rage and cruelty,
Is mercy, tenderness, and pity, now.
This, then, perform'd, we'll to the battle fly,
And there, amid'st our slaughter'd foes, expire.
If 'tis revenge and glory you desire,
you may have them if you dare but die; Nay, more, ev'n freedom and eternity.
UNHAPPY man! who, thro' successive years,
From early youth to life's last childhood errs;
No sooner born but proves a foe to truth,
For infant Reason is o'erpow'r'd in youth.
The cheats of sense will half our learning share,
And preconceptions all our knowledge are.
Reason, 'tis true, should over sense preside,
Correct our notions, and our judgments guide;
But false opinions, rooted in the mind,
Hoodwink the soul, and keep our reason blind. 10
Reason's a taper which but faintly burns ;
A languid flame, that glows and dies by turns:
We see't a little while, and but a little way;
We travel by its light, as men by day;
But quickly dying, it forsakes us soon,
Like morning-stars, that never stay till noon.
The soul can scarce above the body rise,
And all we see is with corporeal eyes.
Life now does scarce one glimpse of light display:
We mourn in darkness, and despair of day:
That nat'ral light, once dress'd with orient beams,
Is now diminish'd, and a twilight seems;
A miscellaneous composition, made
Of night and day, of sunshine and of shade.
Thro' an uncertain medium now we look,
And find that falsehood which for truth we took:
So rays projected from the eastern skies
Shew the false day before the sun can rise.
That little knowledge now which man obtains, From outward objects and from sense he gains: 30 He, like a wretched slave, must plod and sweat, By day must toil, by night that toil repeat; And yet at last what little fruit he gains! A beggar's harvest, glean'd with mighty pains. The passions still predominant will rule, Ungovern'd rude, not bred in Reason's school; Our understanding they with darkness fill, Cause strong corruptions, and pervert the will: On these the soul, as on some flowing tide, Must sit, and on the raging billows ride, Hurry'd away; for how can be withstood Th' impetuous torrent of the boiling blood? Be gone, false hopes! for all our learning's vain; Can we be free where these the rule maintain ? These are the tools of knowledge which we use: 45 The spirits heated will strange things produce. Tell me who e'er the passions could control, Or from the body disengage the soul: Till this is done our best pursuits are vain
To conquer truth, and unmix'd knowledge gain. Thro' all the bulky volumes of the dead,
And thro' those books that modern times have bred,
With pain we travel, as thro' moorish ground,
Where scarce one useful plant is ever found;
O'er-run with errors, which so thick appear,
Our search proves vain, no spark of truth is there.
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